


Trophies for the Wall

by Amuly



Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), Clothed Sex, Daddy Issues, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Identity, SteveTonyFest, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:17:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's been in the 21st century for about a month now, and Mr. Stark has something he wants to show him. When Tony reveals the Captain America memorabilia room, Steve expresses his gratitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophies for the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [hackle](http://hackle.tumblr.com) for the stevetonyfest gift exchange!

 

“So... Don't be weirded out. Promise you won't be weirded out.”

Steve had blinked at the turn of phrase, still unfamiliar to him in this new future. Unfamiliar, but comprehensible, after a moment's thought.

“I don't know if I can promise that, Mr. Stark,” Steve replied cautiously. His hand reached out to twirl at a phone cord that wasn't there. Wireless, right. Like radio. “Are you going to show me something weird?”

“Maybe not so much _weird_ as... reminiscent of a Police song...”

Steve frowned. “A precinct released a song? I don't think I've heard that one.”

“Stop being adorable,” Mr. Stark's voice demanded over the phone. It was full of warmth, and just a hint of nervousness. The words were strange, but the combination of good-humor, friendliness, and perhaps a touch of over-confidence and ego was something familiar to Steve. He knew men like Stark before—maybe not _exactly_ like him, not with anything approaching his genius, but close enough—and knew Stark was a good man, at heart. Could figure that much out already, even after just a month or so of knowing the man.

“Alright, so long as it's not immoral: I suppose I'll promise not to be 'weirded out'.” Steve sighed heavily, like the promise was being torn from him. Just to tease Stark a bit—Steve suspected it might endear him to the man.

Sure enough, Tony's laughter, like tinkling bells, came through the line (wireless line?) loud and clear.

“I promise it's not immoral,” Tony replied. “Just maybe a little creepy.”

“Well, you better show me whatever this big secret of yours is before you warn me off it some more,” Steve prompted.

“Alright, alright. Yes sir, Captain, sir!”

Steve laughed and pressed his hand to his face. That Mr. Stark was really something else—a real ham.

“Are you going to give me an address or...” Steve started.

“No, no: I'll swing around with the car and pick you up. How's seven o'clock tonight sound? Grab a late dinner after, if you aren't running for the hills after what I've got to show you?”

Steve rolled his eyes. Honestly, unless Tony was about to show him some sort of sexually deviant treasure-trove—which why _would_ he, what need would he think there was to show that sort of stuff to Steve, even if he _had_ something like that—Steve was certain this big secret was not so upsetting as Mr. Stark was making it out to be.

“Sounds swell, Mr. Stark.”

“You know I'm going to keep asking you to call me 'Tony' until you actually do, right?” Tony's voice was warm over the line, almost seductively sweet. Steve smiled softly and cradled the phone against his ear.

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Steve teased. When Tony laughed, Steve corrected himself. “Alright, Tony. Seven o'clock. I'll meet you downstairs. Should I dress up?”

“No, no. A plainclothes outfit is fine. Nowhere fancy, I promise.”

Steve nodded. He'd still wear something nice enough. Tony was inviting him out to dinner, after all. It'd be rude not to look sharp for him.

When Tony hung up the phone with his usual flair, Steve turned and glanced at the small mantle clock in his apartment. Only one o'clock now. Sighing to himself, Steve decided to change into some running clothes and go for a jog. No way was he going to get anything productive done today: not when he was antsy with anticipation over whatever it was Tony was so nervous to show him.

As Steve rounded Central Park, on his fifth lap of the thing a little bit later that day, he briefly considered what he might do if Tony _was_ planning on showing him some kind of sex dungeon.

Steve felt his face flush a much deeper red than it should at his current levels of exertion, and ran faster. The future might be different, but it wasn't _that_ different.

* * *

“Steve! Get in,” Tony called out from his car. He had a tumbler in his hand as Steve stepped in and squeezed himself into the seat opposite Tony. When offered one for himself, Steve politely declined. It didn't keep Tony from pouring himself another finger as he looked Steve up and down.

“Looking good, Steve. You clean up nice, outside the field.” Tony's leg jangled nervously as he took a steadying sip from his glass. “One of these days I'll have to unleash the designers on you. Armani would eat you _up_.”

“I'm comfortable in my clothes,” Steve reminded Tony.

Tony's grin was too broad and too sharp: predatory, was what it was. Steve shivered.

“That may be, but it's less about you and more about how you'd look in a tailored suit.” Tony capped the statement off with a wink. Steve's Irish skin did him no favors, he knew, at hiding the blush that he could feel blossoming across his cheeks.

“So are you going to let me in the secret, Mr. Stark, or do I have to wait to see it for myself?” When Tony pouted and gave him a look, Steve hurried to correct himself: “Sorry. _Tony_.”

Tony smiled big and took a sip from his glass. “You're going to have to wait. It's a little bit hard to describe. But don't worry: I think you'll like it. You're a history buff, after all.”

Steve smiled ruefully, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, personally I think it's cheating to call me a 'buff' when I just got off lucky living the history myself,” he pointed out. “But sure, I like history. And future-history, like you were showing me at the Smithsonian. Is that what you've got for me Tony? Another museum?”

Tony waggled his glass back and forth, the amber liquid inside sloshing just below the lip. “Something like that...” he teased.

Steve huffed and sat back in his seat, smiling over at Tony. The man was a born showman—they would have loved him back on the USO tours. He probably would have loved all the old Star Spangled Man shows Steve had to put on back in the day, except for the fact that he was forty years off from being born.

“Hey, which of us do you think is older?” Steve asked. “I mean, if you discount my time in the ice, I'm hardly thirty. And you're-”

Tony cut Steve off by waving his hand frantically and glancing around like he was looking for cameras. “I know it's a matter of public record, but no need to say it out loud more than absolutely necessary!” he laughed. “But yeah. Older than thirty.” Tony stroked his goatee dramatically, considering the question. “Why the sudden thought?”

“No reason.” Steve sure hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt.

Apparently it was, because Tony's expression grew sly. “Is it because you're trying to figure out who's robbing the cradle and who's robbing the grave?”

Okay, so Steve could _definitely_ figure out _that_ idiom from context clues. Fighting down his blush, Steve crossed his arms over his chest and put on his best Captain America voice. “Just trying to figure out if I've got enough seniority to put you whipper-snappers in your place.”

Tony fell over himself laughing at that, slapping at Steve's knee with his free hand. Steve smiled a little easier, knowing he got one up on Tony at least once.

The car came to a stop a few minutes later in front of... “It's the Mansion,” Steve commented as he stepped out into the cool night air. He glanced over at Tony, looking every inch the powerful businessman he was as he stepped out of his fancy car in his expensive suit.

Tony wiped his palms on his trouser pants nervously. “Yeah. But I got something to show you that wasn't included on the grand tour.”

Steve eyed the Mansion suspiciously, but after a moment shrugged and followed Tony up to the expansive front doors. Whatever big secret Tony had to show him, it'd be revealed soon enough.

Tony led him through the familiar halls quickly, much faster than the sedate pace he had adopted when showing Steve around the Mansion the first time. Not that it was hard for Steve to keep up: even if he was fitter than Steve imagined most businessmen were, Tony was no match for the super-soldier serum. Not to mention the good three inches Steve had on Tony in stride length.

The slowly-becoming-familiar halls passed by Steve quickly. Tony was leading him to one of the Avengers levels: past the ballrooms for charity galas, down the hallways with bedrooms (one of which Steve had stayed in his first week in this brave new world), down the in-house elevator to the Avengers' basements. Tony strode past the training room, the conference room (“War Room”, Steve had called it before sensing the uncomfortable tension in Iron Man's shoulders), and medbay. They ended up coming to a stop before a big pair of double doors that had been left out of the tour the first time, locked off by an official-looking keypad. Steve hadn't given much time to exploring yet, and hadn't tried his keycard on this door.

Tony's fingers fumbled with his own Avengers ID card—he had one thanks to his status as official team benefactor, and the designer of the Iron Man armor. He was starting to look more nervous, like he might reconsider the whole thing and bolt last minute, leaving Steve poking dumbly at the locked door.

“Okay, you know, you promised you wouldn't get _too_ weirded out,” Tony reminded Steve. “And that's Captain America's word. That's like swearing on the Constitution or something.”

Steve mock-frowned. “Well now, let's not go bringing the _Constitution_ into things, Mr. Stark. That's a bit much.”

 _That_ at least drew a smile out of Tony, breaking through from beneath all the nervousness.

Stepping forward, Steve pressed his hand to Tony's shoulder and looked him square in those big blue eyes of his. “Tony. Unless you're about to show me something amoral or deeply depraved, I don't think you have anything to worry about. And from how kind you've been to me these past few weeks, I can't imagine there being anything that would jeopardize our friendship behind these doors.”

Tony's grin was cocky, but fake. “Just you wait,” he mumbled _sotto voce_. Then he turned to the door and swiped his key card in front of the pad.

“ _Password, please_?” the door prompted him.

“Steve Rogers,” Tony announced with no small hint of embarrassment. He glanced back at Steve. “Your ID card works on the door, and nobody else's. Except Iron Man's, of course. Password's the same for you.”

Steve couldn't help but frown a little at the curious password, but shrugged as the door opened. “At least it's easy to remember,” he commented. Then he clicked his mouth shut, because he found himself at a complete loss for words.

The trophy room—because that's what it _was_ , a trophy room—was full of... _Steve_.

Steve stepped into the room with no little bit of shock, almost stumbling over his own feet at the threshold.

“Mr. Stark?” Steve managed to fumble out.

“Yeah,” was all Tony said.

Steve stepped further into the room, trying to take it all in. It was his newspaper articles, his war bond posters, his old costumes. His guns, his motorcycle. Oh, and God, _Bucky_. Bucky's costumes, posters of Bucky encouraging kids to help out the war effort by recycling scrap metal. There was a stack of movie reels by a projector—surely with their old stupid propaganda movies on them, commercials they filmed for airing before feature films. Old shields of his, before he got the vibranium one he still had, the faithful old girl. Steve stopped in the middle of the room, turning around and around as he tried to take it all in.

Tony was rubbing the back of his head awkwardly, shamefaced in the doorway. “Yeah, so. Dad started collecting all this. Not me. Uh. Some of it's me. I mean, just... he had all this stuff from back when he knew you, and then after he died whenever anything of yours went up at an auction I kind of... got it. Just for historical preservation, you know? But now you're _here_ , you're not history, and so I just wanted to make sure you got what was yours.”

A sudden, fierce passion bubbled up inside Steve. The future had been so confusing, so different and yet the same, like living in a foreign country but with all the same landmarks as home. And this man, this Tony Stark, was everything about the future that so alienated Steve. Yet here he was, giving Steve this little bit of his past back, and... Steve wasn't going to waste another second of the future he'd been given. All the flirting, all the little glances he and Tony had been exchanging ever since Iron Man first unfroze him and brought him to the Avengers Mansion: it all seemed to be going intolerably slow. That was going to have to change, now.

Steve turned on Tony and pushed him against the nearest empty wall. Tony's eyes widened and he flinched, almost like he was expecting to be hit. Instead, Steve leaned in and kissed him fiercely.

Tony kissed back almost immediately, much to Steve's relief. He hadn't thought he'd read all the flirting and the signals wrong, but that too could have been something different here in the future. He was horribly glad that it wasn't. With Tony as a willing participant, Steve pushed his body harder against Tony's, sliding him a couple inches up the wall as he kissed and kissed and kissed him. Tony's facial hair scraped and tickled at Steve's skin, and Steve almost laughed into the kiss. Instead he just kissed Tony harder, delighting in the lusty squirming his body was doing beneath Steve's.

Tony pulled back with a gasp, head banging against the wall, lips separating with a smack. Steve wasn't breathing heavily, but his heart was racing faster than he'd felt it in years.

“Uh.” Tony's eyes were wide, but lips were curled up in a breathless smile. Steve found himself focusing on Tony's lips, spit-slicked and shining between his dark, coarse facial hair. An animalistic urge to _claim_ welled up in Steve, but he pushed it down. For the moment.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Steve murmured. He went in for another kiss, eyes sliding closed just after he confirmed that Tony was leaning in for it, too. Steve pressed one hand to the wall just next to Tony's head, the other coming up to wrap gently around Tony's neck, holding him in just the right place for Steve to ravage his mouth. Apparently Tony was very happy to be manhandled by Steve, because his body was melting into his, all those lines of his expensive suit getting rumpled under the pressure of Steve's more modest civilian clothing. His hands fluttered around Steve for a moment before settling on his hips. Steve took a step closer to Tony, pushing Tony's back into the wall with his hips as a kind of wordless approval of the move.

“Wait, whoa.” Tony pulled away from Steve again, eyes blinking dazedly. Steve waited, head bent down towards Tony's, thumb rubbing sweetly at Tony's jawline. Tony already looked thoroughly debauched, like a heroine from one of those tawdry romance novels Steve had been eyeing at the grocery store.

“Yes?” Steve prompted when Tony seemed too distracted to continue his protestations. Steve leaned in and kissed at Tony's jawline, sending a tremble down Tony's spine. That probably wasn't the best thing to do when trying to keep Tony on track, but Steve had wanted to do it. And Tony was letting him.

“Uh.” Tony's throat rumbled under Steve's lips. “Are you... I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm reading this right. Pretty hard to misread the...” Steve scraped his teeth over Tony's Adam's apple, bringing a moan and a sigh to Tony's lips. “Ah, uh... misread the kissing. And the. General making out.” Steve ground his hips against Tony's. “Or that. Definitely hard—or, uh, fuck—difficult, definitely _difficult_ to misread _that_ , wow, okay...”

Tony was panting beneath Steve, body moving against his, desperate for his mouth to shut up and let it take over. Steve grinned and pulled away from Tony's throat, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Tony chased him as he moved away, lips trying to recapture his.

“Are you asking if Steve Rogers, a month off fresh from nineteen forty-five, is okay with having relations with a man?”

“I think I was going to ask something like that but then I heard you say it out loud and maybe now I'm thinking I just want you to fuck me against this wall.”

Steve rolled his hips forward, pressed his lips to Tony's ear. “Turn around and drop your pants.”

Tony spun around so fast Steve was surprised they didn't start a fire with the friction between them. His expensive suit pants were crumpled in an instant, belt buckle clanking loudly on the wood floor. Steve followed him in kind, unbuckling his khakis and pushing them down to his ankles. He took a moment to stop and breathe once he straightened up, one hand going out to rub at the swell of Tony's rear, massaging the surprisingly well-muscled mounds. Tony moaned and pushed back against him, every inch the wanton playboy he claimed to be.

Steve's fingers ran along Tony's crack, down and below, rubbing between his thighs, pressing at the back of his balls. Tony's hips rolled backwards again, more urgently now. “You don't have anything, do you?” Tony asked, tossing his chin back over his shoulder to try and look at Steve.

“Not planning on needing it,” Steve offered as a non-explanation. He then spit into his hand and rubbed it between Tony's thighs meaningfully.

Tony mumbled something that sounded like an affirmation and went partway limp, knocking his forehead against the wall and letting it rest there. Steve grinned as he worked up saliva in his mouth and spit into his hand again, wiping between Tony's legs, trailing his fingers teasingly up his perineum and just barely dipping between his cheeks. His left hand slid around to Tony's front, tugging at his stiff member. Tony groaned and let him at it, leaving the work up to Steve. Not surprising, and not in the least bit disagreeable to Steve. Rubbing his thumb against Tony's slit, Steve milked some precome out and used it to smear down Tony's hard length. Tony gasped and his hips bucked approvingly.

“Spread 'em,” Steve ordered, kicking lightly at Tony's thighs. Tony panted and muttered something about “uniforms”. Steve filed that bit of information away for later.

Grabbing hold of his own erection with his right hand while keeping up the attention to Tony's with his left, Steve guided himself between Tony's spit-slicked thighs. He didn't need to tell Tony to close them: the other man brought his thighs together, giving Steve the tightness and friction he was looking for. Steve grunted and thrust between Tony's thighs a couple times, just to try it out. That was good. Just about perfect, considering he didn't have anything but spit and precome for lubricant.

Leaning in, Steve pressed his lips to the back of Tony's neck. He trailed a hand down Tony's flank to soothe the trembles that followed the little gesture. “You feel good,” Steve whispered into Tony's skin.

A stunted offer tumbled from Tony's lips: “Need me to... uh...”

Steve shook his head, forehead pressed up against Tony's shoulders. “No. Right here.” Steve pumped his fist over Tony's hardness, trying to reassure him with heated strokes. “Stay right here.”

“Okay,” was Tony's half-whispered reply.

Tony didn't get approval much, Steve could tell. Not from where it mattered. Howard had been cold towards him, that much was obvious. If not by Tony's demeanor, then this room would have told Steve all the story of absent father-figures Steve would have ever needed to know.

Steve's fist was bumping up against Tony's pristine white shirttails with every stroke, leaving smears of precome staining the expensive material. Steve kind of liked it that way: liked making Tony a little bit messy. He thrust more quickly between Tony's thighs, grunting at the hot, wet friction to be found between them. “You feel perfect,” Steve reassured Tony. He squeezed his right hand around Tony's rear, massaging the firm muscle underneath. Tony moaned brokenly, forehead rolling against the wall.

Lifting his head from Tony's shoulders, Steve reached up and tugged at Tony's chin. “Come here,” he coaxed, turning Tony's face away from the wall and back towards him. Steve captured Tony's lips in a sweet kiss, hips thrusting away between them, hand moving rapidly over Tony's front. Tony's moans were muffled into Steve's mouth, kissed away the second they escaped by Steve's lips and tongue. Precome spurted from Tony's hardness into Steve's hand, lubricating the way. Tony moaned, pressing up into Steve's hand and then back against his hips, grinding his buttocks against the hollow of Steve's hips. Steve grunted and thrust harder, rattling the wall a little as he shoved Tony against it. A framed portrait of one of his old propaganda photos tilted, knocked askew.

A litany of half-uttered curse words started to tumble from Tony's lips as his hips twitched in Steve's grasp, seeking release. A fire was building inside Steve at the sound of those little cut-off exclamations of pleasure: a desire to protect, to nurture, to love. Steve slipped his hand from Tony's rear and wrapped it around his waist. He lay his cheek against Tony's sweaty back as his hips continued to thrust, breathing a little hard as his orgasm welled up within him.

“Almost there?” Steve murmured against Tony's skin.

“Ah- fuck- almo-” Tony went silent for a long moment, clenching his teeth so hard Steve could hear it. His body went tense, thighs clenching hard around Steve. One of his hands slipped down to grab at Steve's where it was wrapped around his waist, squeezing convulsively at his forearm. Steve stroked him faster, waiting, waiting, until Tony spilt into his hands with a cry, body going loose and trembling, like a taut wire cut in half.

Steve tugged himself out from Tony's trembling thighs and stroked himself. It was a little awkward because not only was he was holding Tony up with his right arm, but his fist was crumpled around Tony's shirt, tugging it up and out of the way to give him a beautiful, unblemished expanse of Tony's back to aim for. That was okay though—mother and country, it was _more_ than okay. He brought himself off in a couple more strokes, grunting his way through his orgasm as he watched pearly white drops land on the small of Tony's back, dribble into the dimples there and down the crack. Steve groaned at the sight and stroked himself a few more times, wringing the last drops from himself before bending down to lap at the mess he'd made on Tony's back. Tony whimpered far too endearingly for a grown man beneath Steve's attentions.

“I'm just gonna...” Tony waved one hand absently back at Steve as he slid down the wall. Steve laughed and allowed himself to be caught, settling down onto the floor with Tony. Tony opted instead to use Steve's chest as his personal mattress, kicking off his own pants as he settled. Steve didn't mind, just bringing one arm up to wrap around Tony's back and hold him close.

“So I like the room,” Steve started, mumbling the words into Tony's messy dark brown hair. Tony shared a laugh with Steve before he stopped, propping himself up on Steve's chest.

“Oh, uh, I forgot.”

Tony rolled off of Steve, all loose-limbed and easy. Steve waited, hands tucked behind his head, watching the lights in the ceiling. The bulbs were really great quality in the future. He'd have to ask the computer internet about the different lights in the future. Maybe collect some different ones for practice sketching, trying out the different lighting that was available to him now.

A second later and the warm weight of Tony was back, sprawled across Steve's chest and stomach. A hand came down on his forehead. Steve crossed his eyes, trying to look up at the red blur now above his eyes.

“What's this?” Steve asked, bringing a hand up to his forehead. He pulled the item off, to reveal: a bow. A bright red Christmas bow.

“I meant to give this to you as a Christmas present,” Tony explained.

Steve found himself blinking back tears, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of gratitude.

“Thank you, Tony,” he replied sincerely, making sure to meet Tony's eyes. Tony glanced down and away, shrugging, embarrassed. Steve reached up and caught hold of Tony's chin, making him meet his eyes. “Really: _thank you_. I can't imagine a better Christmas present for me, this year.”

“I thought you'd jet across the world at the sight of this room,” Tony reminded him.

“Good thing you didn't listen to your gut,” Steve teased. Then he eased the sting of his teasing by drawing Tony into another lazy kiss. When they parted, Tony settled back down against Steve's chest, drumming his fingers impatiently on it. Steve should have figured a man as busy and important as Tony Stark wouldn't be so good at just lying with someone.

“So are we going steady now? Boyfriends? Because you know, I've got a reputation to uphold-”

“You've got a mouth on you, don't you?” Steve mumbled fondly. He wrapped an arm around Tony's back and drew him close, hugging him to his chest. Tony really was affection-starved. Steve himself had no shortage of the stuff, so was happy to share it where it was needed.

Cracking open one lazy eye, Steve surveyed the rumpled Tony Stark perched on his chest. “We can be whatever you want us to be, Tony. The sex was good-”

“Great. Awesome. _Mind blowing_ , and we didn't even get around to blow jobs yet-”

“ _Great_ ,” Steve corrected himself with a smile. He ran a hand through Tony's rumpled hair, come loose from whatever gel was fashionable to hold it down with. His thumb caressed a line over Tony's cheekbone. “And I really like spending time with you. If you wanted to date, that'd be fine by me. If this was a one-off, or you wanted to keep it confined to the bedroom—or Captain America room, as it were—that's alright too.”

Seeing the hesitancy in Tony's eyes, Steve decided to add an addendum to his declaration. “Though...” Steve reached up to cup Tony's face in his hands, bringing their lips close. “If I had to put in my two cents, it would be for the dating option. I _do_ like spending time with you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shivered against Steve as he brought their lips together for another sweet kiss. When they parted, Tony blinked dazedly. “Is that a kinky thing? 'Mr. Stark'?”

Steve laughed, whole body warm and content and _happy_ , more sharply happy than he'd felt since he awoke in this future. He grabbed Tony and rolled them both over, so his body was bracketing Tony's on the hard wood floor.

“It could be,” Steve murmured. He rolled his hips down meaningfully against Tony's, who whimpered. Steve grinned. God bless the super-soldier serum.

Tony arched into Steve, groaning tiredly. “I think I figured it out: I'm the one robbing the cradle, because there's no way I'm going to be able to keep up with that stamina of yours.”

Steve's stomach chose just then to growl. Steve glanced down at it, frowning, while Tony laughed and ran his hands down Steve's sides. “Speaking of stamina,” Steve mused. He glanced back up at Tony, grinning wryly. “You had said something about dinner after this? If I wasn't 'running for the hills'?”

Tony beamed up at Steve. “That's right! You're not. Alright, big guy.” Tony smacked Steve's bicep twice. Steve's arm didn't even wobble. “Pick up your clothes. I've got a nice little Italian joint I bet you'll like. Real hole-in-the-wall.”

“Sounds delicious,” Steve replied honestly. Then he leaned down to kiss Tony again, just because he could. Even if that did mean it ended up taking them about twenty extra minutes to gather up their clothes and get going to that Italian joint.  

 


End file.
